


Don't Shoot the Messenger

by JLBRD



Category: Ocean's 8 (2018), Ocean's Eleven Trilogy (Movies)
Genre: F/F, HOLY CHRIST this is the worst summary of all time, VERY MISLEADING, but move along
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-05 03:55:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17317610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JLBRD/pseuds/JLBRD
Summary: "Well done. Your German’s still flawless.Congratulations, and give Yen my regards."





	1. Keep a low profile

**Author's Note:**

> s/o to neighborhoodspaceman for this idea that I lost sleep over after it became a slight obsession. you're the realest.
> 
> also, check out [Danny's Ocean](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16951599) by bakedsweetpotato.  
> It was a subconscious inspiration-almost-forgery that was not registered until I was 3,000 words in. (Big fan of your work!)
> 
> Please enjoy and let me know your thoughts :)

The insane ride that has led her to today wasn’t even prison. No, it all started with Danny sending _I M OK_ in stamped braille in his contraband packages sent her way, which eventually turned into _D L OK_ , and she assumed he meant himself and Lou.

 

Debbie knows what it means _now_ and doesn’t take being mistaken well.

 

The second instance must have happened during her parole hearing since she received the next note right after, in her stolen hotel room.

_’May he rest in peace’? Come on, Debs._

_Give me more credit than that. Don’t kill me off just yet._

 

What, he bugged the entire prison? Had a mole? Did he ask the parole officer what her exit speech entailed?

 

The surveillance from afar continued well into the time of the heist. He had eyes _inside the loft_.

 

_You keep a picture of me around. That’s cute, I’m touched._

_Hope you and Lou don’t get freaky in the bathroom in front of my shrine._

 

Even briefly meddling where he doesn’t need to.

 

_Not telling Lou the whole plan can only end badly, Debbie._

_Fix it. You know how to._

 

It came to an abrupt end with a note admiring Debbie’s best work to date.

 

_Congratulations, Deb._

_Though I should have known that jewels weren’t the only things that you’d be stealing._

_Tell Yen I said hi. And give John Frazier my regards. That bastard._

_I have a surprise for you. Should be there in… well._

_The timing is out of my control, actually._

_Take care_

_x_

**********

 She ends up buying eight metro cards – she promised, after all.

 Eight because Lou insisted that she be included.

 

_“I have to get one for you too, Louanne? Don’t you just go places with your death trap?”_

_“It’s not fair, Deb. I want a metro card, too.”_

_“Fine, you big baby. Even if you can afford it yourself.”_

_“So can the rest of them. Stop being mean to me. Don’t treat me differently just ‘cause I’m special.”_

_“Oh, you should know by now. You’re a different brand of special.”_

 

The women find out the real amounts they’ll be receiving before they go their separate ways for several weeks at least, preferably months.

 

They have to keep a low profile, so they don’t celebrate together, much to Debbie’s relief. Years of being in the business have taught her that once the adrenaline runs out, you’re left feeling drained, too exhausted to do anything, too exhausted to _be_.

 

Debbie’s post-Met hibernation was rejuvenating. The orgasms, sleep, bubble baths, wine, and couch time making her feel like a new woman.

 

But now, she finds herself restless and not able to do anything about the excess energy. She doesn’t deal well with having too much money and too much time on her hands, especially with Lou in California, who is _someone_ to do.

 

And so, she finds her only other source of solace.

 

The Danny incidents haven’t fully slipped her mind, but she can’t damn well ask the dead for confirmation, can she? _“Was that really you?”_ Only to be met with complete silence is disappointment that she doesn’t want right now, not ever.

 

She settles for a simple and true sentiment.

 

“You would’ve loved it,” Debbie finds herself muttering out loud. Mischief clear as day, but nostalgia bleeds in. He’s not physically there for her to rub his nose in the crew’s success.

 

The scene is poignant, Debbie playing the part of mourning sister perfectly.

 

That is until light, but deliberate footsteps interrupt the moment, the measured _tap, tap, tap_ a scarily recognisable pace crossing the marble floor.

_It can’t be._

 

She freezes, doesn’t quite whip her head around, in no hurry to face the intruder.

 

“Yes, he would have loved it.” 

**********

Debbie’s dread, her caution seeps into her tone, posture rigid.

 

“Who are you?”

 

She’d ask if she’s lost, but Debbie Ocean doesn’t make a habit of wasting her breath. She knows that one doesn’t stumble in here by accident.

 

And there’s no mistaking that combination – messy mop of red hair, intelligent brown eyes ever curious, not missing miniscule movements in its range.

 

In front of her is a little girl who can’t be younger than 5, but can’t possibly be a day past 7 years old, the way she holds herself betrays her youth. Debbie curses herself inwardly; she really should be better at gauging these things, but she’ll get her answers soon enough.

 

With tight fists, figure trembling slightly, the kid blurts out in a hurry, seeming to resolve not to lose her nerve:

 

“It’s me, aunt Debbie. Elle Ocean. You must have heard of me by now?”


	2. Keep your chin up high

It’s a damn good thing that she’s already sitting because not many things can make an Ocean’s knees buckle.

 

Having almost concrete proof of a brother’s death sure makes it on the short list.

 

_Is she her only living relative now? If this is some kind of trap…_

 

“Danny, you piece of shit,” she grits out, rubbing her temple. Her voice rings in her ears, sure as hell echoes in the silent mausoleum.

 

The girl – _her niece_ – is still wary, unsurprised that she’s not getting a warm welcome – a positive sign in their world, but softens a little at the sight of her aunt seeming to piece things together.

 

Steeling herself, she says, “I don’t need you to hang around, kid. Shouldn’t you be with Tess?”

 

“It’s fine if you want me to leave, we just thought you could use the company. But no, she left, too. Pretty sure she’s with dad. He has money coming in here and there, but I haven’t needed it yet. Surviving, you understand that,” these words sounding true to the Ocean legacy.

 

 _But she’s so young_. Not that age hindered her in the past – she had a good few years of being underestimated and using that bias to her benefit. Discrimination would be hypocritical of her.

 

Add in the smirk, the glint in her eye and everything hurts Debbie fleetingly with the familial resemblance.

 

Elle pulls Debbie out of her stupor. “So, what do you say?”

“We can ask Lou if you can stay temporarily, she won’t mind it for a couple of days.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that.”

“Oh? You’re so sure about this and I don’t even know what to do with you. For all I know, this is some elaborate con, a prank that Daniel’s playing from wherever he is.”

“You still know him well, then.”

 

Debbie sighs, pulling her phone out.

 

Across the country, Lou pulls her phone out, sighs when she sees who it is, what it’s about.

 

JLBRD: SOS. child in tow 

Lou: pls tell me we haven’t stooped down to kidnapping

JLBRD: hilarious. mini Ocean staying at the loft for now

Lou: sounds like I can’t say no…? was there a question in there or

JLBRD: not really

Lou: you need a friend anyway. enjoy, don’t break anything or burn house down

Lou: lego sets by nine’s game corner, lucky charms and rice krispies at cupboard top shelf

 

Debbie’s eyebrows furrow. That is a weird, calm response, but chalked it up to Lou’s nature.

 

“Whatever. Let’s go, Danny’s spy. You have a metro card?”

Elle scoffs. “Of course. You think I’m a tourist?”

Amused, she speaks the truth. “You probably steal those from poor, unsuspecting tourists.”


	3. Don't shed blood

Debbie’s not really sure how a 6? 7? Year old (she’s still unsure, hasn’t gotten around to asking something so trivial compared to caring for family and _not_ fucking up) can be so busy without school, but seems like her niece has full days of going places, doing plenty, so she doesn’t complain, get in her way, or worry.

 

Too much.

(Yet.)

 

Putting her in a school would mean a commitment to the guardian gig and she still has too many questions before she remotely even considers it. Dismayed, she shudders at the possibility of becoming so damn domesticated. _Like Tammy. Ugh. Suburban New Jersey isn’t ready for this Ocean._

 

And so, she does what she does best: plan.

Plan to find out what the actual fuck is going on.

 

Elle is an easy kid to care for. Something she can’t relate to since she’s been high maintenance since forever ago.

 

Their first night found her overwhelmed and underprepared. Bath time, dinner, and bed time has Debbie Ocean panicking like she hasn’t in a long, long time.

 

She’s told that she can get clean on her own. Of course. _I knew that_ , Debbie winces internally.

Dinner’s a fairly quiet affair, neither eager to fill the awkward silence. They stick to mundane topics.

 

_“So you live here, but it’s not yours? Why not? Where’s your house?”_

_"It’s not mine, it’s Lou’s. And um. That’s a good question.” She trails off, and doesn’t want to linger on the thought, determined to pick at her takeout container instead, letting the conversation drift off._

_Almost automatically, Debbie frowns and mumbles out, “This is home. With Lou.”_

_Elle takes a second to really observe her aunt as a vulnerable mark, a would-be victim with weaknesses, this one coming in the form of a person._

_A lightbulb goes off in her head but opts not to share her epiphany. Instead, she shrugs, “You’re weird.”_

_And they leave it at that._

 

For all her early independence, story time still has Elle giddy, expectant. They go with a classic but a goodie: _Robin Hood_. She happened to have a copy lying around that Lou gave as a joke. It’s fitting. Otherwise, it would have been tough choosing among Thoreau, Camus, Paulo Coelho, or erotic poetry – less than ideal selections, the inept caretaker accepts.

 

It’s not long before the young girl is out, unsurprising bearing the day’s events in mind.

 

Their first breakfast had Debbie overcompensating for a disastrous night. She decides that it’s a no on scrambled eggs since the smell, texture, the mental image alone transports her right back to prison headspace. It’s too soon. She cooked up some pancakes and chicken nuggets, cut up some fruit, and was prepared to bribe with ice cream lest she be deemed a truly terrible aunt, but Elle sauntered off to do god knows what, looking satisfied enough, twinkle in that deceivingly angelic face.

 

She can’t be bothered to overthink right now, so she slumps on the couch to take a lengthy nap from the relief. Not before thoroughly scrubbing some dirty dishes to de-stress, though.

 

“We’re going to Veselka tomorrow,” Debbie grumbles.

 

She shoots Lou a quick _“your kitchen is fine”_ text along with an image of the mini-buffet spread attached that promptly gets a smiley face and a thumb up back.

 

JLBRD: when r u back 

Lou: soon

JLBRD: not soon enough

Lou: sooner if u cook like that for me

**********

The first shopping trip to get Elle some more clothes than the few she had would be deemed humorous from a spectator’s eyes, but Debbie is not observing. She’d describe it more as tedious, a little exasperating despite Elle’s efficiency. The kid clearly inherited their good taste because the stuff she’s picking up are not cheap. _They are pint-sized pieces of fabric. Are these priced correctly?_

 

Debbie doesn’t like the feeling in her stomach that’s too similar to guilt, but it seems maybe too straight-to-hell immoral to steal small human clothes, so she actually goes to pay.

 

She tells herself that aunts are supposedly ones to spoil little people; she listens to societal pressure for once in her life.

 

If only Danny could see her now…

**********

Back at the loft, Elle grins unabashedly as she pulls out a few shirts and toys that she’s lifted from her backpack. Bag more than likely stolen, too.

 

Debbie tries to look deeply disapproving, but the impressed smile threatening to break out proves hard to tamp down.

 

“Just checking what you’d let me get away with. That goofy look says that these are fine?” 

“It’s not like I’m going to drag you back there. We don’t apologize, and we don’t embarrass our own.”

“Mmm. Just say you’re proud of me already.”

 

Debbie grunts, feigning frustration.

_She’s got me all figured out._

********** 

They’ve formed a routine of sorts that works for them.

 

Elle shouts a “bye, auntie Deb” as she waves goodbye for the day, not coming back ‘til the late afternoon, early dinner.

 

 _I should feel taken advantage of, but this is actually kinda nice._ She thinks that this must be what having a cat is like, then immediately feels bad for the thought.

 

Elle’s day trips give _auntie Deb_ opportunities make her list.

 

Lists, rather.

 

A grocery list that is unlike the one that Constance asks for, luckily.

  * OJ
  * Popcorn
  * Chips. Chips.
  * Marshmallows… and chocolates for s’mores
  * Regular-size people food
  * ~~Stuff for pizza?~~ we’re getting those delivered
  * Cookies
  * Potatoes that don’t come in vodka form
  * Vegetables, probably



 

A list of people that she can interrogate.

  * Tess
  * Reuben Tishkoff
  * Yen
  * Louise, who is in big trouble
  * Rusty



 

And a list to plan how to find Danny, if he’s not six feet under.

  * _List pending_



_But I will kill him if he’s not dead and can’t just ask me to babysit like a normal person._


	4. Don't shed tears

Tess is a failed contact.

Which is just as well. She wasn’t necessarily thrilled at the prospect of speaking to an upstanding citizen, no matter how helpful.

**********

Reuben was not useful this time around.

He was excited at the prospect of having an uncorrupted little person to spoil, though.

 (Little did he know.)

 

“What does she like? I would like to meet her.”

**********

Yen was a hard _maybe_ on the helpful scale. He’s cooperative, sure, but has always been a man of few words.

 

“Can I have some of your fries?” He asks.

 Debbie can’t say no to the ever-stoic, ever-valuable man.

 “After doing all that acrobatic shit for us? You can have my plate, Yen.”

**********

Lou comes back, and she gets her answers.

 

“Hiya, stranger,” were the first words out of her mouth.

“Hello—” Debbie starts, but is cut off by her niece’s stomps down the stairs and enthusiastic greeting.

“Hiiii, Lou!”

 

_What the ever-living fuck?_

**********

Furious, Debbie asks, “You couldn’t have told me?”

Incredulous, Lou snaps back. “Mmm. I might be getting old, but if memory serves correctly, we weren’t on speaking terms for a while, Deborah.”

An indignant huff. “I resent that.”

“You and me both.”

**********

Finally, she’s pointed to the right direction and goes to Rusty.

(She really should’ve known.)

She finds out that the kid asked to spend time with her.

 

Her logical side has been craving answers, explanations, when _bonding_ wasn’t even an alternative in her conniving, genius head.

 

“You’re the closest thing to Danny that she’s got. And she’s heard about your schemes. She’s interested to hear the stories from the mastermind herself,” Rusty drawls, trying and failing to sell a half-truth with charm.

“I’m the closest to Danny? What about you?”

“Who are you fooling?”

 

_And that’s not a half-truth._

**********

So they proceed to do just that. Bond. The group basically ends up making Elle a 9th member, but in less risky, tamer situations. For now.

 

“Anyone else feel wrong using the child?”

There are murmurs, some fidgeting, but ultimately, it’s a unanimous “not really” all around.

“Oh, okay. Glad we’re on the same page, team.”

Tammy squirms, stating, “I’d object since I have my spawns, but they’re kind of evil. They have real potential to follow my soiled footsteps and make me proud.” 

**********

‘Uncle Reuben,’ who is ‘gramps’ instead when he’s being a pain, is one of Elle’s favourite people.

 

In retaliation, he calls her Mini Deb, tiny Ocean, puddle, splash, wave. He has his fun with the nicknames.

He has tons of adventure (mostly age-appropriate) stories about Danny.

And he has tons more of treats of concerning amounts and frequency.

 

At 6 and a half years of living on the planet, the young Ocean has developed a taste for soft fur, the freshest fruit juices, and tasty, expensive ham.

“Start with sophistication and finesse at a young age, Deborah. Leave her alone.” 

**********

She thinks the world of Nine because she’s cool and teaches her computer stuff even adults shouldn’t know how to do.

 

“Debbie wants to toss her phone out the window every 5 minutes. We can’t let that happen to you, bud.”

 

She thinks that the most exciting activity so far is looking into cameras all over the world. She feels like an explorer without having to leave the comfort of the loft.

 

It goes without saying that she may or may not see her dad in one of these cameras. Who knows, really. Those who don’t want to be found sure know how to disappear. 

**********

Amita feeds her way too many cookies for a petite body to handle, and gives her little jewelry sets so she can learn all about expensive rocks, their histories, how to estimate their worth.

Elle’s favourite part of their days spent together is when the grown woman asks her for love advice, “what do you think?” and she gets to say, “boys are dumb,” and it’s somehow the most insightful piece of knowledge that Amita can get around here. 

**********

Rose turns her into a little model. She pretends to like it because she doesn’t want to hurt the fragile adult’s feelings.

 

So, she sits still, changes outfits, stands and walks, stretches her arms out this way or that way, twirls when asked, all with minimal protest.

 

But most importantly, she grabs a spoon for her Nutella jar when she forgets.

 

“You’re the best, little lady,” Rose barely sobs out. “It’s been a rather rough day, but I’m not opposed to sharing,” shoving the jar way too close to Elle’s face.

“I’m good, thanks,” patting the fashion designer’s arm and escapes to freedom for the day.

Delighted, she declares, “More for me, I guess,” and digs in. 

********** 

Tammy has a lot of ammo in her armoire: her kids, and humiliating Debbie stories.

Oh, and photos. Bad teeth, bad hair. Dismal wardrobe a polarizing contrast to how Debbie is these days. They’ve known each other since they were almost Elle’s age. There’s a lot of material too good not to expose to the world – specifically, too good for Elle to miss out on.

 

“That’s aunt Deb? No way. Her hair was so… big and poufy, like a princess dress.”

Tammy throws her head back, the description all too accurate. “Better believe it, missy. You’re related to this, mmm, creature. Thankfully, you got the good genes,” winking at the girl. 

**********

She likes Daphne enough, but sasses the star almost constantly for thinking she’s better than anyone else.

 

Despite the attitude, Elle is won over when Daphne took her to a set and to go see a play.

 

“Little girl, I knew you liked me.”

“I like the perks that come with you, Daphne.”

 

Hand on chin, she lets that thought roll in her head before conceding. “It’s the same thing. Alright, I’ll take it.”

**********

Constance is the closest to her both in age and height, and those factors work in her favour in winning Elle over.

She teaches Elle card tricks, skateboard, video games, how to steal better, and takes her to sketchy but great food places. _“The less you feel like going in, the better the food will be. Usually. Or you get food poisoning. It’s always a gamble.”_

 

They grab ice cream after two hours at the skatepark and Constance drops a mini bomb.

“How are your moms doing?”

“My what?”

Waving her hands like she wants the conversation to be physically swatted away, she says, “You know what, never mind. Forget that the nicknames slipped out.”

********** 

Lou is special. She’s auntie Debbie’s, plus she and Rusty used to bring her to Central Park and let her scare other kids into not feeding the ducks in the pond. “It’s bad for their stomach,” she’d say. “Parents encouraging stupidity shouldn’t be tolerated.” Elle can almost hear it clearly.

She taught her to dip fries in milkshakes.

She never neglects to send birthday cupcakes, delivered one way or another. It’s how Danny knew that his approval of Lou is justified.

If she can be any more special, it’s due to her making sure to keep Danny’s gift for Elle safe.

 

A long-forgotten locket that Debbie had when she was younger – he stole it for fun, she cried over it for weeks, then she got over it completely. It’s clearly not permanently forgotten since her eyes widen upon seeing it, blinks back tears, and looks away.

 

“Danny, you piece of shit,” she says, reminding Elle of the first day they met.

How far they’ve come since then.

 

So far that she feels no shame or hesitation in asking her aunt,

“Can I keep it? It’s yours, and I never stole it, so. It’s still yours.”

 

Debbie laughs a little at her niece’s reasoning. _Steal it and claim it_. Can’t argue with that.

 

The only answer she gets is Debbie turning her around and putting the necklace on for her.

“Of course, it’s yours.”

 

Inside is a picture of tiny versions of Daniel and Deborah Ocean, arms slung over shoulders, feet not quite touching the ground, toothy grins missing pieces, one face pelted with ice cream, the other holding an empty cone.

 

“He deserved that. Worth losing my ice cream over and making mom’s face turn a new shade of red.”

They laugh, but it’s short-lived.

“I miss him.”

“Me, too. It’s okay to feel that, you know?”

“I do. Do you?”

Debbie can only shake her head. “Touché.”

Shutting the lid, Elle says, “Pick one for the other side, something that won’t make us be so sad anymore.”


	5. Always be ready

It’s Saturday morning, one that has Lou still rubbing sleep from her eyes, but it’s a special day, so she has to be up soon. ish.

 

Debbie’s used to the whining by now, which is something she never thought she would be.

 

From across the hall, they hear:

 

“Five more minutes. Please.”

“Let’s go, Ellie. Get up, get up. I told you last night that you’d be cranky if you didn’t get enough sleep.”

 

She never thought she’d find fulfillment in caring for – and occasionally being mean to – a little person, and yet here she was.

 

“Kid, I need my beauty sleep while you two go get ready, which won’t happen until you wake up properly. Hurry, before she brings the pots and pans out. I’m begging here,” Lou whines, only being half-dramatic, mostly serious about the improvised gongs about to sound out.

 

The threat effectively has a groggy Elle up and about, heading to the kitchen, probably to slump over the island while Debbie pours her some cereal, giving her yogourt along with it.

 

“Eat up. We gotta go say hi to your father’s hypothetical ghost.”

“You sure we can’t say hi to him from here? Shouldn’t he have hacked into your phone’s cameras by now? Hello, Daniel Ocean, if you’re listening.”

 

This is a common scene in the loft now that Elle’s been staying with them for months.

 

For a while, Debbie was contemplating whether she wanted Elle to stay or not, but it didn’t really occur to her that it’s not a choice she has to make. Did Elle even want to stay? Initially, it was curiosity that made her want to get to know her aunt, her dad’s best friend growing up, except that she can go wherever she wants, whenever she wants – back to Rusty, they can go on a hunt for Danny.

 

But she chose them.

 

The verdict was made in the most anticlimactic manner possible. Debbie expected some kind of meltdown, as she’s come to find that the girl is prone to tantrums when she doesn’t get her way.

_“Exactly like someone I know,” Lou would tease._

********** 

The three of them were draped across the couch, postures demonstrating a desire to become one with the piece of furniture. The television blares something loud and colourful.

 

“Rus called. He asked when you’re going to come feed Hillary Joan. Who is that? Why is a 6-year-old responsible for feeding anybody?”

Elle doesn’t even bat an eye. “Well, that’s silly. She must be starving and will probably die soon since I’m not going back there. I’m staying here with you and Lou.” A wide yawn lets the adults recover from the statement. “Hilly Jo is my pet fish. I’ll call him tomorrow to say, uh, maybe we can come visit them when we get a turtle.”

“You’re pushin’ it, kid,” Lou warns, sensing an all-out war coming regarding this non-existent turtle.

 

Debbie stays silent, brain running a mile a minute. 

**********

That night, Debbie confesses, “I would have shipped her off to some snobby, fancy school if I couldn’t come up with any great options.”

“Are you out of your mind? You were thinking of boarding school?”

“She can use the stability. And she just said she’s staying! Don’t yell at me,” slight hysteria in Debbie’s defensive voice.

“You think she won’t wilt away in a structured system? You and Danny thrived in but loathed school. She has more than enough education here. If she really needs Shakespeare, I can make her read those myself and we can hate them together.”

“You really want to keep her?”

Lou doesn’t miss a beat. “Yes. You only said no to stray dogs or cats, not children.”

 

Debbie hits her shoulder, Lou acts like it hurt.

 

“Very funny, asshole. Calling my niece a stray.”

“Hey, I wasn’t the one who was going to shoo her off. By the way, I have _never_ seen you let shit slide so much with anyone else. It’s nice to see you get softer.”

“Call me soft again and you won’t get any for a month.”

“Like you can last that long. Don’t be daft,” Lou snorts, purely fond. “Keep it real, darling.” 

**********

“You remember your little spiel half an hour before the heist about prison food being ‘better than most people think,’ solitary being kinda peaceful, and about an 8-year-old dreaming of becoming a criminal?”

“Mhmm. It’s one of my better pitches convincing people to stay calm when I wasn’t so calm myself.”

“Well, I was sure of three things by then. Two. One I had doubts about. Number one is that you are a sociopath, honey.”

“Baby, you say the sweetest things. What else?”

“That I’m in love with you, but I already knew that.”

 

Debbie doesn’t get a word in now, is incapable of it.

She’s stunned by how much the idea of Lou loving her _still_ affects her and probably always will.

So she smiles, urging Lou to go on.

 

“And number three is that you must have known about Elle. But then the timing is off, and you wouldn’t get that wrong on purpose or otherwise. Hence the uncertainty.”

“I didn’t know about her. Clearly, as we have been arguing about that.”

“Right. I did want to tell you, I swear,” eyes watering with regret. “It just wasn’t my place to—"

“I know. It’s okay,” reaching up for a kiss. “We’re okay.” 

********** 

Turns out, Danny wasn’t done shadowing and showing that he cares. _What a relief_. Elle gets one final letter left on a plant by the front door, the envelope featuring a large L. She snickers at the lousy pun, not grasping the real power of dad jokes.

 

Debbie left her alone to read once she assured her she’ll be fine.

 

In now-familiar scrawl, the words flow, seeming to tumble out of a man not ready to say goodbye, but the frantic pace indicating he has no say in the matter.

 

_To my absolute everything,_

_Give her hell, baby girl. That’s all she did to me when we were growing up._

_No, but seriously, be good to her. To them._

_Give her many, many hugs and kisses; she likes them coming from those she loves. She won’t say it, but she’s got to adore you by now. Maybe even since the first day. Auntie Deb’s all gooey inside, and you’re an angel. (When you want to be.)_

_Make sure to side with her in arguments against Lou – she will be wrong most of the time, but that soft Aussie will forgive her for being stubborn and insisting that she’s right when she isn’t._

_Oh, don’t forget to leave the house for a few hours once they’ve made up. Adult stuff. I may be the worst dad ever for having to leave you, but I’m not letting you get traumatized, either. Few hours minimum, Ellie. Go to Rus, one of the girls. Trust me on this. And stay out of trouble, will you?_

_Never forget that you have people in your corner. You’ll be fine, Oceans know what to do, always. Mom sends you kisses._

_We’ll see you again._

 

_Love,_

_D_

 

As has become a habit at this point, Elle mindlessly raps her knuckles against the wooden chair she’s sat on.

 

_Tap, tap, tap. Tap. Tap._

_Tap. Tap, tap, tap. Tap. Tap._

_Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap._ A beat. _Tap, tap, tap. Tap. Tap, tap, tap._

_‘D L OK,’ she signs in their private code._

_Debbie, Lou, and Elle are okay._

 

Just in case an absentee, but concerned father was listening.


End file.
